


The Covalence In The Bond

by fujiidom



Category: Big Bang Theory, Bones (TV)
Genre: Character Parallels, Crossover, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-28
Updated: 2009-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 11:50:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fujiidom/pseuds/fujiidom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To help with a murder case, Sheldon gets Penny to drive him to D.C. to give the fine folks at the Jeffersonian some information.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: Ask a Question, Form a Hypothesis

**Author's Note:**

> Set around season two of _The Big Bang Theory_ and early season four of _Bones_ , but clearly in its own weird universe.
> 
> Sheldon’s one of seven people to understand (and have worked with, although that doesn’t have much to do with it) Dr. Joe Gosselin’s work in theoretical physics and string theory. Because Sheldon hears of the professors death and knows the answers to the questions/problems that the man had been killed over, he wants to come give them to the FBI. Everyone at CalTech was told to do so, for that matter. He just insists on doing it in person, for safety's sake.
> 
> Gosselin had burned his notes, prior and leading to his death, leaving no conclusions to the base of his research. So they go into the guys place, have all the problems, scribbles, etc; – no answers. Enter Sheldon and his notes. They're added to a list of evidence against whoever they’ll eventually figure out for the murder.
> 
> As for Penny, she needed money and drove him there to get some.

.

“So now they FED-EX squints? Overnight?” Booth raised his eyebrows, not pleased at the sight on the other side of the glass window. A grown man in a Green Lantern shirt? Never a good thing.

“Federal Express does not transport human beings, Booth. And I believe his trip took several hours longer than that, but yes, he did arrive relatively more quickly than most.” Brennan pursed her lips, waiting for her partner to catch up to speed at his own pace. She’d found that rushing him to understanding things only led to arguments and needless grunting. “I think he drove.”

“Well, what do we need another emotionally stunted egg-head around here for? Don’t we have enough of those wandering around in the lab?”

“I resent you supposing that anyone on my team is emotionally stunted. Flawed, maybe, but that’s no fault of their own. Also, the term egg-head is a silly, childish pejorative, even for you. Our skull and bone structure is much more intricate than it supposes, you know that.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry, Bones. These academic types just freak me out a bit, okay? Too much reading, not enough social interaction, it makes me feel like he could snap any second, or something.” Booth rubbed one hand flat against the knuckles of his closed right fist. He looked on edge, maybe from being pulled back into work at eight o’clock at night, but it was hard to tell. He was often in a cagey mood.

“Well, shouldn’t we question him, now? He came forth with evidence, after all. Plus, he’s driven all this way.” she began walking towards the door, hoping Booth would follow without further questions.

“Why did he drive? We could’ve waited a day, until he had a chance to book a flight, like a normal person.” Booth held a single finger up, right fist still balled up in thought.

“Let’s ask _him_ that.” Brennan tilted her head towards the physicist in the opposite room, trying to move things along. She hated trying to make uneducated guesses like that, no matter how much Booth tried to force her into it.

“Okay, Bones, I give. You leave this up to me, alright? These types get all flustered when they try to talk to women, I’ll have a better chance of getting through to him.” Booth reached for the doorknob, holding the door for the brunette.

“I disagree. My perceived attractiveness could actually prove useful, if I can initiate a bond between him and myself, it will aid my ability to gain trust and garner more reliable information.” She paused before entering the small interrogation room.

“Whatever works, Bones, whatever works.” Booth pushed the door open as Brennan’s hand turned the knob all the way.

“Hello, there, Dr. Cooper. Glad you could make to our nation’s capital, all the way across the country! How long was the flight?” Booth swaggered in and took his place in one of the metal chairs opposite the other man’s.

“I didn’t take a plane. I don’t feel safe traveling with over one hundred strangers, miles and miles above the Earth’s surface, in a hollowed out aluminum tube. The bacteria and germs alone could kill me.” He shuddered at the thought.

Booth had nothing to say to that, simply turning to his partner will an upside down smile and widened eyes. The words _told you so_ were all but written on his face.

“Dr. Cooper, what Agent Booth is wondering is why you felt the need to rush here so quickly?” she folded her hands in front of her, trying to steer the conversation towards friendlier waters.

“I had this to give you-” He pulled out a notebook full of meticulously crafted notes. “Many people in our department had worked with Dr. Gosselin in the past and we were all told to come forth with anything that had merit to the trial. There are now only six others in the Northern hemisphere that understand, fully, the information in this book and wanted you to have the correct calculations, from one of them. I observed the trial to be a time-sensitive issue and didn’t want to be the cause for anyone being arraigned without all the facts on hand.”

Brennan was impressed, as Booth had been ready to pin the ongoing double homicide on this unexpected guest.

She scanned the papers in front of her, not understanding a large majority of the mathematical calculations. She was a skilled logician, but even she was not above admitting some information still rendered her quizzical.

“This is very impressive work, Dr. Cooper.” She turned to Booth, giving him a quick nod that assured him she was not lying.

“Thank you.” he shifted, sitting up proudly in the metal chair. “I don’t think I know your name ...” he watched her pull her hair back to the side a bit, revealing the FBI badge that was attached to her lapel.

“Dr. Temperance Brennan?” His eyes lit up. “ _The_ Dr. Temperance Brennan?”

She was always surprised that people recognized her, a little unnerved by the popularity that could be propagated by a few book jackets. It frustrated her that her fiction oftentimes overshadowed her academic, crime-solving, and humanitarian successes so completely.

“Yes.” She was used to this exchange, after five years of writing and meeting many fans. “I’m sorry to insist that I can’t sign anything, however, since your information will likely be included as evidence for the trial next week. Also, I don’t have a pen.” She gave a small smile as she finished her thought.

“That’s a shame; I truly enjoyed your study and subsequent critique of metaphysical anomalies in trans-Saharan social groupings in the Ghana Empire. Fascinating research and quite an enjoyable array of footnotes,” he nodded his head as he considered his memories of reading her various dissertations.

“Wow, Bones, someone who’s read the stuff you’ve written that wasn’t on the Times list?” Booth said, but with a very non-humorous expression. “That’s ...” He paused, considering his word choice. “... _rare_.”

“I’ll have you know that many people read my academic papers, Booth. I was awarded several commendations and research grants based solely on the paper Dr. Cooper is speaking of, so,” she trailed off, unsure of what to say. “Don’t go there.”

“Don’t go there?” Her partner returned with a toothy grin in amusement at how awkward the phrase sounded out of her mouth.

“It’s an urban colloquialism. It means that she wishes you to not continue your ongoing line of derisive commentary any further,” Sheldon interjected.

“Whoa, buddy,” Booth burst out, loud and in charge, and no longer smiling at all. “I think that you’ll speak when spoken to, got it? That’s how things work around these parts. Okay, Ichabod?”

Sheldon gave him a measured, squinty look at his words, as if suspicious or confused, before answering, “I apologize. I was merely trying to help you understand her rhetoric. Urban slang can be quite tricky to decode, since I’m an expert in the area I was just offering my aid.”

Sheldon was now nearly wincing at the other man’s aggressive glare. Even though everyone was sitting down, Booth seemed to tower over the nervous physicist, despite his lanky height.

“It’s not a problem, Dr. Cooper,” Brennan got in before any more male posturing could start. “So, is there anything else pertaining to the case that you’d like to let us know?” Brennan responded, pointedly ignoring Booth’s huffs at her letting Sheldon off the hook.

“No,” he said plainly. He looked off to the side, deciding something, “But, may I ask you something, Dr. Brennan?” He skittishly flicked his eyes to Booth, who was frowning, but got the okay anyway.

“Theoretically, of course, do you believe there to be the possibility of a superior genus already bridging the gap between the current evolutionary subset of human beings and a further, more evolved version of the same? A _homo novus_ , if you will.”

Booth really looked pissed, now. He hadn’t gotten anything besides ‘superior,’ ‘humans,’ and ‘evolution’ from that sentence. He was waiting for Brennan’s answer, because he was at least slightly more liable to understand what the hell she said, at least some of the time.

“I accept your hypothesis or concept, depending on what theoretical approach you’d choose to present any conjecture and incidental findings, but your basic premise is flawed,” she said, as he raised an eyebrow in question. Continuing, with his silence as what she could decipher as consent to do so. “ _Homo sapiens_ did not intelligently, or scientifically comprehend themselves as further evolved than any previous mitochondrial lineage, until years and years after the fact, a while down the the generally consented evolutionary time-line. So, yes, anyone looking for minor, but key evolutionary changes may be able to find them, but to truly comprehend such progressions you would have to examine their brain matter and bone structure, after the fact, as well, to make a truly compelling argument. It is quite a captivating conundrum, I must say.”

Sheldon opened his mouth to object, but was cut off by Booth’s chair scraping backwards.

“Yeah, well, as _captivating_ as this all is, we’ve got the evidence we need. I’m getting as far away from here as soon as I can. I’m going to go give a heads up to Julian. You two have fun with,” he moved an open-palmed hand in a small circle at the two who remained seated, “whatever this is.”

He left the room and needed a cold Golden Monkey, or anything with decent alcohol content. Brennan never felt bad about flirting (or whatever that’d been), in front of him, which was fine because they were both adults. It didn’t make him like it anymore.

He pulled out his phone and set about tying up his loose ends, explaining what the new evidence meant and that this guy wasn’t the mysterious suspect they’d imagined he could be. Just trying to help out.

He hated the kid even more.

As he strolled back through to the lobby, he noticed a perky looking blonde, sticking out from the crowd of suits and blazers in a bright pink top and low-cut jeans, sitting with a stack of white paper on her lap. It looked like a magazine, but was basically just a packet of computer paper; words were the only thing printed on its surface. A …script? What the?

Waiting for Julian to come back from the hold she’d placed him on, promising it would be brief, he creeped over quietly and sat down next to her, peering over to what she was reading. Definitely a script. “What’s that you’ve got there? You an actress or something?”

“What?” she snapped up, surprised at first, but immediately flashing a wide smile that would’ve made him think twice about, if she didn’t look young enough to be his daughter. Okay, so he thought twice anyway, but knew better than going there. “Oh, this is just a script I need to memorize for an audition this Thursday,” she leaned closer to him, clearly interested. “Are you a cop?”

“Well, no. I’m an FBI agent, like everybody else in this building,” he sighed. Blondes.

“Well, I saw your gun and badge, just assumed. That’s pretty standard issue for an FBI guy, I thought they’d give you something flashier, or whatever,” she commented, closing her script book.

“I admit, I prefer something a little showier in my spare time, but I’m on the job, so. Standard issue, like you said. You know your guns? I’m surprised,” he may have misjudged.

“Usually just big shot guns and stuff like that, but kind of. Grew up on a farm, what’re you gonna do?” she now had an arm around his chair’s back and was sending signals all over the place. He had to extract himself before he was throwing the issue of age difference out the window.

Thankfully, Brennan and Spock finished their mind-melding, or whatever, and were walking out the door before the aspiring actress could get her claws too deep into him.  
“Tridents are for ruling the seven seas, not for eating,” he was saying, tersely. Booth scrunched up his face in confusion, but Brennan was smiling slightly at his comment.

“I understand your frustrations, Dr. Cooper. I take issue with people not using utensils in the culturally intended manner, also. They just don’t care to learn anything of tradition anymore. For a restaurant to openly encourage such ignorance, well it’s their prerogative, but a rather imprudent one at that. But, it’s better than using their hands, I guess,” they both shook their heads disdainfully at the thought. “Well, I can assure you that Stetson’s has no such cutlery, as I eat there fairly often.”

“Excellent.” He put his hands in his pockets, heading towards where Booth was sitting. “Penny, Dr. Brennan, here, is going to show us the best place to get a BBQ bacon cheeseburger in the area.”

“Oh, really?” Booth almost jumped when the blonde next to him turned to yell this at the basket case and pulled an ugly Members Only-looking jacket from the back of her chair, handing it to him. “Do they have a bar?”

Sheldon rolled his eyes, taking the jacket and turning to Brennan in question. She nodded.

“Sounds good!” she turned back to the gaping agent to her left, his phone barely dangling near his ear.

“You two are together?” he motioned between the two.

“Yes,” Penny answered, surprised and slightly nervous at the older man’s indignation. Following Booth’s gaze darting quickly back and forth, she clarified, “Oh, but not like that.” She laughed loudly, especially at Sheldon’s baffled glare. “I’m his neighbor and… reluctant friend,” she paused before adding, “and now his cross-country chauffeur.”

“I paid Penny to drive me here, since she needed the money and I needed to avoid flying,” he supplied, simply.

“So you’re not dating?”

“Oh, god no,” Booth grabbed his chest for a second at the sureness in the blonde’s—Penny’s—answer.

“Good, ‘cause next thing you know I would’ve been flat-lining,” he then jumped up and began speaking on the phone again, no longer on hold.

“Me first,” Penny remarked, looking upwards, then putting her things into her purse and getting ready to leave.

“You shouldn’t joke about tachycardia Penny, let’s try for a little decorum,” he said gravely.

Brennan and Penny gave him similar strange looks.

“So, to Stetson’s?” Brennan found her coat on the rack near the door, beginning to leave the building. Before they could make it ten feet, Booth came running up out of nowhere.

“To Stetson’s!” he slowed down, meeting their walking speed and rubbed his hands together looking mischievous. Brennan didn’t know what that look meant, or why he was following them.

“I don’t believe that you were explicitly invited,” Brennan commented softly, smiling as she tilted her head out of earshot to her two new acquaintances.

“Explicit? Geez, Bones, what’re you three planning on doing after? Or are you really even going to dinner at all? Is this all just a clever rouse?” he wagged his eyebrows, getting his own jacket and walking in step with the others.

“What? A rouse? No.” She really didn’t get his jokes, some of the time. So boorish. “I just mean that you probably won’t be very interested in the conversation topics,” she tried to get him to see the flaw in whatever his plan was.

“Well, neither’s Blondie, over there, so look at it like I’m doing her the favor,” he tilted his head in Penny’s direction, where she was berating the physicist for insisting she not drink. “What is it that you two were planning on doing? Talk about brains and monkeys, then head back to your place for a quickie, make the pretty blonde from next door read her script in the car? Then he’s off. Things to do, compendiums to read; time to play with his big, shiny hadron collider out West? Did I just walk into a squint booty call?”

“Hardly, Booth,” Brennan couldn’t believe how badly her partner disguised his jealousy, sometimes. He was practically seething with envy at each word. “Cal-Tech has no hadron collider. And as a matter of fact, yes, Dr. Cooper wants me to look at his brain’s x-rays that he’s having faxed to my office later on, something about being a more evolved human being. As for the predetermined ‘quickie,’ which I can infer to mean quick bout of sexual intercourse, I do not foresee that happening. I’m not interested in Dr. Cooper, sexually. He lacks the physical make-up and inherent social indicators that would serve as a precursor to any physical or emotional chemistry,” Booth gave her a sideways, bug-eyed look as they neared the double doors to the parking lot. “In short: I don’t think we’d hit it off, in that way. We’re too similar. Anyway, we’re eating in the meantime, platonically, until the faxes arrive,” she waved her hand dismissively.

“And you’re going along with this? Playing at this weird ‘I’m A Superior Being’ crap? Bones, I didn’t realize you had such a soft-spot for nutcases,” he emphasized his last word, truly believing it, taking extra long on the ‘nut’ part.

He adjusted his jacket’s collar, holding a door open so that she could walk through.  
“No, I don’t think he is actually a further evolved human being, but I do like looking at brain x-rays. Who doesn’t?” Booth shrugged; even he wouldn’t necessarily pass that chance up. “He just needs some intellectual evidence to the contrary and maybe he’ll drop the subject entirely. Why not help whatever group of colleagues and/or close friends he’s been spewing this nonsense at for years? I am a pre-eminent anthropologist, who could be surer of his incorrectness?”

She grinned, slyly, and Booth stopped caring what about he was arguing for a second, feeling a big smile creep across his own features. Finally, snapping out of it, he remembered her phrasing with an eyebrow raised.

“You think he has a group of ‘close friends?’” Booth lazily waved a finger in the direction of the two out front of the building, already, waiting for them to catch up. “She’s his neighbor, not exactly best friend material. So how many others refused to drive him until he got her to concede? Sound like a tight knit group?”

“Well, I don’t have nearly enough information to come to any kind of reasonable conclusion about that,” she pointed out. He rolled his eyes and pulled his keys out, giving up. “You’re driving?”

“Yeah, Bones, why not?”

“You’ll be partaking in alcohol consumption, will you not? Shouldn’t we call a taxi or see if one of them can drive?”

“Bones, I don’t know them from Adam, I’m not letting them drive. We can call a cab at the restaurant if it’s an issue, we’ll be fine.” He was striding, confidently towards his SUV, ignoring the further words of protest from his partner and watching the other pair follow them.

They all piled into the car. He was about to pull backward and out of the lot, when the Urkel (in what was confirmed as definitely a Member’s Only jacket, when Booth turned around to glare at him) screeched in objection. “Penny needs to buckle her seat belt! Please do not reverse the car any further until we are all safely secured, only then will we be ready to go!”

Hearing the snap of metal entering metal, he rolled his eyes and continued backwards. Maybe they wouldn’t be fine. At least he’d be drinking.


	2. Part Two: Test Your Hypothesis, Try an Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go out to dinner for drinks, talk a lot about evolution and guns, and are all totally not hot for one another.

.

  
"Just shut up and answer the question, Spock," Booth grumbled grabbing the beer that was placed in front of him.

Sheldon looked murderous, eyes slitted with anger and dislike. "I believe that alcohol will impede my ability to reason and will prove detrimental to my goal of being rewarded the Nobel Prize. When my mind is focused on something any distractions are unacceptable."

"Wow," Booth breathed out so loudly that everyone jumped a bit. "I can't believe how much a load of crap that is," he mumbled over his bottled lager.

"What?" Penny and Sheldon both replied, shocked at his audacity. Nobody questioned Sheldon once he explained something. Well, besides Penny and on a rare occasion maybe one of the guys. He was asking for trouble.

"Well, I don't know about you, buddy, but Bones, here, is the smartest person I know. She may not have a Nobel award, or whatever, but she's sure got dozens of others." He raised his bottle in her direction, as if to toast her. "Not to mention that she's put hundreds of murderers behind bars and helped a buttload of countries identify thousands of remains after all kinds of nasty things like genocide, natural disasters, plus plagues and stuff. Basically, if anyone can be considered intelligent and successful – it'd be her."

"Thank you, Booth," Brennan smiled, sipping the glass of wine grasped in her left hand.

"Mr. Booth, while I agree that Dr. Brennan is a considerably qualified anthropologist and a highly acclaimed intellectual, I fail to see the point of your digression," there was an awkwardness to his tone that made Booth really wonder if he didn't get the point. How was that possible? He'd just spelled it out for the guy.

"I'm saying that if she can get a little tipsy here and there, anyone can," he tilted his head to where Brennan was sipping from her glass. Sheldon stared blankly at both.

"I understand your sentiments, but respectfully disagree," was all but mumbled from the opposite side of the dinner table.

"Why?" Penny was the one to voice this. Booth had hit a nerve and everyone at the table was now engrossed in the conversation.

"Because," the man sharing the left side of a half-circled booth with her replied. He cleared his throat, uneasily.

"I don't mean to overstep my bounds, but 'because' is not a very scientific conclusion, Dr. Cooper. Since you're disagreeing about my personal lifestyle preferences – I'd like you to give a more detailed answer to your friend's question, if you can," Brennan wondered aloud.

They each began snatching up the pieces of bread that had been placed in front of them. Sheldon didn't even acknowledge the basket.

"I—I—I," Sheldon's brain looked fried. He couldn't process his thoughts properly with everyone rushing him. People didn't normally push for a comprehensive answer to his abstaining from drinking. Normally, a nice succinct reply was enough to change the subject and the topic was successfully forgotten. Now, he had his three dinner-mates staring back, all openly pressuring him to say something, while nibbling on pieces of rye. "I don't like it."

"But no one likes it, Sheldon!" Penny burst out, unable to stop herself. "You think I love the way rum tastes? Please! There's a reason why things are mixed and cut with fruity or other strong tasting chasers."

"I don't hold my drink very well and I dislike being so easily influenced by such pedestrian means of socialization," he tried, looking like he was trying to placate the others with anything at this point.

"So you have had alcohol before?" Booth didn't catch the last part, but had heard the geek's first statement loud and clear. He sat up a little straighter, a big smile on his face. Sheldon nodded slowly, almost aware he'd been caught in a trap, but unsure of how. "Then why are we having this conversation? You're just a control freak, is all, Spock. Believe me, there's a million reasons to quit drinking, but if 'losing control' is your issue then I'm afraid you've just lost the argument."

"Actually, that'd be my fault. I may have added some rum to his Diet Coke, without him knowing," Penny raised her hand, meekly.

"Penny, no," Sheldon looked like she'd hit him in the face. Penny looked nervously at his strange reaction. He'd been a bit fuzzy the next morning, but neither one of them had ever brought up her little experiment. "I wasn't including that incident as part of my supposition."

"You got him drunk?" Booth's mouth was making a perfectly circular shape, as he let out a squeak of laughter in disbelief.

"Clearly whatever issues Dr. Cooper has with alcohol consumption far pre-date our meeting him," Brennan grinned, unable to remain as detached during this second interrogation.

"Can we change the topic of conversation, please?" Sheldon looked nauseated.

"If you order a cocktail and shut up about how smart you think you are," Booth was daring the other man with a few waggles of his eyebrows.

"Well, I _know_ I'm at least seventy IQ points above that descriptor, so," Sheldon's entire face was pinched up, enraged at the FBI agent. "If one drink will allow me peace, then fine, but just the one. I will order something when the waitress returns."

Giddy with victory, Booth gave a sharp whistle as their waitress passed a few tables over.

She came immediately over, much to Sheldon's ire. He tilted his head upwards and around sharply at a multitude of strange angles, seeming physically unnerved by the non-virgin Cuba Libre order he placed through gritted teeth.

"Let's move past that painful lesson in being a normal person, for now," Booth rolled his neck and shifted out of his suit jacket. The waitress placed Sheldon's drink in front of him and the physicist observed it like there were radioactive chemicals inside and he'd forgotten to bring his biohazard suit. The FBI agent decided to move some attention onto the nerd's friend. "So, Penny, how's life out in the Sunshine state?"

"It's the Golden state, actually," Brennan smiled. Booth, no longer so giddy, glared at her. "What? It is."

"Well, how's life in the _Gold_ state?"

"Golden," Sheldon mumbled, sipping just the top inch of his straw primly.

"How's the _California_ life? There, happy?" He roughly hung his jacket on the back of his chair. Looking from brainiac to brainiac, he stressed his words dramatically. "Happy?" They both nodded, discreetly.

"California life is good," Penny replied. She smiled unsurely, still a little afraid of being yelled at also. She took the silence as a sign she should maybe elaborate. "I waitress on the side, you know, when I don't get any acting gigs. Luckily, I've got a nice little part in the Pacific Oaks reproduction of –," she almost rolled her eyes, but couldn't help herself from only mouthing Macbeth.

"I'm sorry, what?" Brennan didn't understand why she'd stopped talking mid-sentence.

Penny mouthed the play's title again. She wasn't overly superstitious, but it was a really old stage rule that the professor in charge had beaten into them. She didn't want to get blamed for screwing anything up. It was always better to be safe than sorry and she _really_ needed that cash.

"I didn't know you were in Mac –," Sheldon froze at her sharp look. He craned his neck in disapproval and defiantly mouthed the word 'beth,' but any further sound died in his throat.

"Oh, I see. You have an illogical fear that vocalizations of the play's title may result in subsequent misfortune. Quite a disparate interpretation of reality, but a theatrical tradition nonetheless – very interesting," Brennan nodded while speaking.

"Bones!" Booth chided, snapping his head downwards in warning. She didn't seem to understand.

"No, no, it's okay, I'm just kind of nervous about it," Penny grinned largely, willing them to not bicker. It was hard enough trying to be presentable with Sheldon in public. She hated making scenes. Especially in really nice steakhouses when she was sure she wouldn't have to pay for drinks and steak. God, she loved a good steak. "It's my first onstage play in, like, a year. I don't want to screw it up by being stupid with the director's rules, so just in case, you know."

Sheldon considered her words and held up a finger in thought, "Most people refer to it as The Scottish Play, to avoid such melodramatic and unempirical reactions."

"Sheldon, shut," Penny reflexively responded, before realizing that would actually help the situation a lot. "Oh, that'll work. Well, I'm going to be acting as Lady McDuff in _that Scottish Play_."

"No, no, no. It's _The_ Scottish Play. _The_ ," Sheldon shook his head. Penny wasn't so thankful all of a sudden, but put on her best fake smile.

Booth laughed at it and she guessed that being FBI guy probably helped him see through her plastered on smirk. She didn't want anyone to fight about stuff anymore. They needed a new, happier subject.

"So, I don't think I ever got to ask. Are _you_ two together?" Penny swiveled the butter knife in her hand back and forth between the two.

Two straight minutes of awkward laughs paired with half-assed explanations for how that might have seemed a possibility, but wasn't true, then something about Christmas, and a lot of weird looks ensued. Touched a nerve.

Well, at least they were onto a different topic, Penny shook her head amused at their struggle for words. _Thee both doth protest too much_. Or something like that.

She wasn't finished reading that script and didn't have too strong a hold on the exact language, just yet.

Their dinner came and went; Penny and Booth moaned and groaned, obnoxiously, over the tenderness of their Porterhouses. Sheldon only had to send his plate back twice. Brennan really enjoyed Stetson's smoked salmon and educated everyone about the Oncorhynchus' migration systems she'd gotten to fish at when she was just outside Osaka, after examining an unidentified samurai.

There was marginally less bickering and awkwardness.

And then dessert happened.


End file.
